[Footnote *: _Love's Labour's Lost_, Act V., Scene 2.]
A TEMPEST in a teapot stands, one knows, For noisy nothing in the realms of prose. But what _is_ that to the prodigious pother When Minor Poets pulverise each other? "Birds in their little nests agree,"--all right! _Bards_ in their little books fall out and fight. The birds of which the pious rhymster sings Sure were not "singing birds"--those angry things! Who prune themselves and peck each other frightfully. Alas that warblers should contend so spitefully. All--save the cynic--mourn the Muse's loss, When GOSSE snubs GALE, or GALE be-blizzards GOSSE!
"Perhaps it was right to dissemble your love, but----"
SCENE XXXV.--_The Morning Room._ TIME--_About_ 1 P.M.
_Undershell_ (_to himself, alone_). I'm rather sorry that that Miss SPELWANE couldn't stay. She's a trifle angular--but clever. It was distinctly sharp of her to see through that fellow SPURRELL from the first, and lay such an ingenious little trap for him. And she has a great feeling for Literature--knows my verses by heart, I discovered, quite accidentally. All the same, I wish she hadn't intercepted those snowdrops. Now I shall have to go out and pick some more. (_Sounds outside in the entrance hall._) Too late--they've got back from church!
_Mrs. Brooke-Chatteris_ (_entering with_ Lady RHODA, Sir RUPERT, _and_ BEARPARK). Such a nice, plain, simple service--I'm positively _ravenous!_
_Lady Rhoda._ Struck me some of those chubby choir-boys wanted smackin'. What a business it seems to get the servants properly into their pew; as bad as boxin' a string of hunters! As for _you_, ARCHIE, the way you fidgeted durin' the sermon was down right disgraceful!... So _there_ you are, Mr. BLAIR; not been to Church; but I forgot--p'raps you're a Dissenter, or somethin'?
_Und._ (_annoyed_). Only, Lady RHODA, in the sense that I have hitherto failed to discover any form of creed that commands my intellectual assent.
_Lady Rhoda_ (_unimpressed_). I expect you haven't tried. Are you a--what d'ye call it?--a Lacedemoniac?
_Und._ (_with lofty tolerance_). I _presume_ you mean a "Laodicean." No, I should rather describe myself as a Deist.
_Archie_ (_in a surly undertone_). What's a _Deast_ when he's at home? If he'd said a _Beast_ now! (_Aloud, as_ PILLINER _enters with_ Captain THICKNESSE.) Hullo, why here's THICKNESSE! So you _haven't_ gone after all, then?